


A Matter of Calibration

by consultingoncer



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingoncer/pseuds/consultingoncer
Summary: Cleo has standards. Dr. Bellum somehow meets all of them.A collection of sweet moments in the relationship between a countess and her doctor.
Relationships: Dr. Saira Bellum/Countess Cleo (Carmen Sandiego)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 35





	A Matter of Calibration

Dr. Bellum watched in anger as Carmen Sandiego took out the last of their fashion models, damaging their headwear. She had Cleo and Ms. Cookie Booker by her side yet all of them were helpless to do anything but watch as the connection to their insider agents faded. Her headset powered down and she felt drained, the adrenaline from the evening wearing off. 

All of that technology. All of the endless days at her laboratory, tinkering and programming and redoing circuits. And it was all for nothing. 

“I have quite a headache. Good night,” she bit out. She knew if she stayed, she couldn’t hold herself responsible for what she would say, or do, to their bookkeeper. As Bellum left the room, the heels of her shoes clicking on the tiled floor, she was too exhausted to feel even a twinge of satisfaction as Ms. Booker crumbled under Cleo’s deadly stare. 

Deciding not to retreat to her room just yet, Bellum headed to her laboratory. Maybe she could find a flaw in the design, derive some reason why over and over, the seemingly elusive Carmen Sandiego foiled their plans. 

She pushed open the glass doors, flipping the light switch. The scientist squinted at the harsh fluorescent light as it flickered on, casting sharp shadows over her long table. It was littered with metal shavings, stray wires, and discarded drawings, all remnants of her sleepless nights. Staring at the mess, she sighed. It was too much of a hassle to sort through at the moment. 

Not able to muster up the energy to clear away her workspace, Bellum decided to mentally work through her designs instead. She shrugged off her lab coat and lay down on the couch, ignoring the pounding of her head. A lonely silence filled the room, interrupted only by the click of the clock. 

It's funny, she thought. Usually her mind was whirring, spinning, chasing different ideas. But now, as everything they worked towards for the past couple weeks seemed to come crashing down, she could only stare at the ceiling and notice how the paint had started to chip away. 

Maybe it was time to get that redone. It had been a number of years since she renovated. She could fix that flickering light in the corner that she never got around to replacing, could even put in an additional table closer to Cleo’s height now that she was in here on a nearly daily basis to keep her company while they worked on the smart fabric design. Maybe she needed to take a break, let the other faculty members take control of capers for a while while she started some side projects to reinvigorate her thinking. She didn’t know how long she lay there listening to the minutes tick by, unable to focus yet unable to sleep, until she heard someone in the hallway. 

“Saira?” she jerked up as she heard a voice call out her name. Upon realizing it was Cleo, Bellum relaxed slightly, evening out her breathing. Given the shadow cast on the floor, Cleo had long changed out of her trademark dress and was instead in an elegant robe. Quiet footsteps grew louder until she appeared. Cleo glanced at Bellum, taking in her disheveled appearance as she leaned on the doorframe. 

“Cleo,” She managed, pausing to glance at the time. “It’s three in the morning.” She expected to be the only one up.

“If you’re wondering why I’m awake, I could ask the same of you,” Cleo raised an eyebrow, though the action was half-hearted. “I noticed the light was on.”

Bellum just shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” Returning to her previous position, she continued to stare at the ceiling. “Did you notice the paint is peeling?”

Cleo glanced up. “Can’t say I have.”

The countess lingered in the doorway, figuring out what to say. “It really is a shame the fabric didn’t work out.”

Bellum hummed in response. “Shame about the Medici gowns as well.”

“Yes well,” Cleo sighed. “We certainly learned a lesson with Cookie.”

“Not even a backup plan,” Bellum scoffed. “You would have done better.”

“You think so?” Bellum looked up to see a look of surprise briefly cross Cleo’s face. 

“I’m sure of it. Your Vermeer heist was certainly noteworthy, stealing all but one."

Bellum thought for a moment. "You should consider planning our next caper. Professor Maelstrom needs an ego check. He’s planned the last five while I was running experiments and Coach Brunt was visiting her friends.” She scrunched her face up in distaste as she recalled meeting the Mechanic. 

The countess studied her nails. “I’ll think about it.” She walked over to the couch, gesturing for Bellum to move her feet so she could take a seat. 

“Budge up. I’ll put on the next episode of Golden Girls,” she said, talking over Bellum’s tired groan. 

“If I must,” Bellum huffed, sitting up and grabbing the blanket anyways as Cleo turned on the big monitor. 

Cleo sniffed. “I won’t hear anything negative about Betty White. She’s iconic.”

"Last time I settled for episodes of that housewives show," Bellum scowled.

“Whenever Carmen Sandiego makes a surprise appearance at one of our capers and I can’t sleep, it helps to take my mind off of things,” Cleo narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure the other faculty will never hear of this.”

“Don’t worry,” Bellum already felt slightly less miserable seeing the television screen light up. “You can trust me to keep your secret indulgences to myself.”

Not even ten minutes into the episode, Cleo looked over to where the doctor fell asleep on her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her, trying to make her comfortable. 

“Good night Saira,” she whispered, adjusting the blanket. 

***

Dr. Bellum walked into the faculty room fifteen minutes into their meeting. Four heads swiveled around to look at her. As she approached her seat, she noticed Cleo sit up slightly and give her a barely noticeable smile before turning back to face their bookkeeper. Cookie Booker was in the center of the room, grappling for a second chance to prove herself.    
  
“You’re late, Dr. Bellum,” Maelstrom frowned. 

“Unless you’d like to be the one cleaning up hazardous chemicals, Professor, I’d argue my tardiness was necessary.”

“Does it matter?” Coach Brunt drawled. “Dr. Bellum is here now.”

“If I may...” Cookie Booker glared at the interruption. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Bellum waved a hand at her. She settled into her seat, resting her hand on her chin and waiting to see what needlessly convoluted plot the bookkeeper came up with now. 

“As I was saying, I propose we take inspiration from the wicked and steal a pair of ruby slippers.” The slide behind the bookkeeper changed to display a dazzling pair of shoes. 

“These will be on display at a collection featuring costumes from the film in New York City, coinciding with the premiere of the new cast of Wicked on Broadway.”

From the seat beside her, Bellum watched Cleo lean forward and wait for the bookkeeper to finish talking. 

“I can see your motivation to recover from the losses that Sandiego put in our account. But why are we stealing the Harry Winston Ruby Slippers?” Cleo asked. A stunned silence filled the air as Professor Maelstrom and Coach Brunt turned and blinked at her. 

“Countess, you know what they’re worth.” Maelstrom said.

“Thirteen hundred and fifty carats of rubies and fifty carats of diamonds valued at three million dollars. Don’t doubt, Gunnar, that I am aware of their worth.” Turning to face the bookkeeper, Cleo continued, “What I don’t understand, is why we’re still caught in the same cycle of stealing purely expensive objects rather than adapting to Carmen Sandiego’s game.”

“You mean play to the level of a teenager?” Brunt interjected.

“What I mean, Coach Brunt,” Cleo’s tone was prickly, “is that Sandiego has weaknesses. And we should exploit them.

“We’ll plant a seed in Sandiego’s head, drop hints indicating that we’re targeting the original ruby slippers, rather than the Winstons. While the originals may not be economically as valuable, they are still expensive enough to be worth stealing. No doubt she will strive to protect that pair in the name of ‘cultural significance’ while we deploy additional operatives to steal the Harry Winston slippers. If either mission fails, we’ll still have a backup pair to rely on for funding. 

“But we’ll make sure to pick someone discreet this time,” her eyes narrowed. “Although his loyalty is appreciated, sending Dash Haber was a mistake.”

Seeing the look of determination on Cleo’s face, Bellum was struck by just how capable and cunning the other woman really was. She ran through the different possibilities in her head as she considered Cleo’s proposal. The more Bellum thought about it, the more it seemed like the caper would work. They needed someone with more stealth and experience this time, that was certain. Dash Haber’s approach was too destructive. 

“I would consider Lady Dokuso,” Bellum suggested. “Her nimble touch and experience would be ideal for stealing these slippers.”

“Shall we put it to a vote?” Maelstrom asked. He turned to Coach Brunt, who raised her hand, and followed up with a raised hand of his own. Cleo and Bellum put theirs up symbolically, already having agreed that the caper is worth pursuing. 

“Lady Dokuso by a perfect vote it is,” Cleo glanced at Bellum briefly. “And really, Cookie,” she smirked. “You should learn to look beyond pure glamour and expenses. Above all, these shoes are a symbol.”

“Of what?”

“Precisely what Carmen Sandiego must be robbed of: hope.” She stood up, pushing back her chair. 

Considering the meeting dismissed, the faculty got out of their chairs, passing Cookie Booker on their way to their classes. 

“Do inform us of any...developments Ms. Booker,” Maelstrom called out before turning into his classroom.

“Countess?” she said, before Cleo could leave. Bellum knew that she didn’t teach for another three hours. Cleo halted and turned around in the hallway, just the two of them now. 

“Saira?” she asked. “What is it?”

“I installed a new workspace and desk earlier today, after all your help with sewing the smart fabric. Should you need the space, it's yours.”

A smile crossed Cleo’s face. “I’ll grab my designs.”

***

Bellum was already sitting at her monitors, compiling her code, when Cleo walked in, carrying her colorful fabrics of all different types of shades and textures. A small smile appeared on her face when she noticed the large workspace, equipped with the sewing machine containing various stitches and monograms, an expansive organizational drawer, and a mannequin. 

Laying down her fabrics on the table, Cleo laughed. “Where did you manage to find a mannequin?”

“Maelstrom’s old classroom,” Bellum said. “He had it before he realized he prefers real skeletons instead of mannequins.”

Cleo just shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know why I’m still surprised.”

She took her seat, opening up her sketchbook as a reference for her design. Other than the clicking of Bellum’s keyboard and the quiet hum of Cleo’s machinery, the two worked in content silence, Cleo occasionally getting up when Bellum asked her to reach parts on the top shelf. The three hours passed before they knew it, both reluctantly leaving to teach their respective classes.

***

The blue light of the early morning filtered in through the hallway windows as the Bellum made her way to her laboratory. She intended to get a morning start, run some additional experiments on the leftover fabric. Pushing open the door and reaching for her lab coat, she noticed a quiet hum of machinery echoing through the room. Cleo was sitting at the sewing machine, working on her new design. But there was something different today. Something smelled...good. Noticing the new additions to her workspace, she picked up the offending pastry, glaring as crumbs dropped onto the table.

“What is this?” she gestured, waving a hand at the coffee and the plate of perfectly baked blueberry scones sitting on top of the laboratory counter.

“It's breakfast,” Cleo said slowly. “People generally eat it in the morning.”

Bellum sighed. “Despite what you may believe, I still maintain some awareness of societal customs Cleo.” 

“Hm yes,” Cleo hummed, still focused on the sewing machine. “Though I can’t understand how you manage it. You seem determined to cling to your image of a hermit, holed up here day and night.”

“I leave my laboratory often enough.”

“You missed dinner last night.”

“That was an exception,” Bellum began. “I had some experiments I wanted to run. I wasn’t sure anyone would notice. ”   


“I noticed.” Cleo looked up meaningfully, meeting Bellum’s eyes momentarily before tending to the sewing machine again. She replaced the empty spool with more thread, snapping the compartment shut before continuing to speak. “Besides, who do you think I would make conversation with? Gunnar?” 

“He can be funny,” Bellum tried. 

Cleo just raised an eyebrow in response. “In any case, I figured caffeine couldn’t hurt. Not to mention that you need sustenance.”

“Don’t start the ‘I don’t eat while I’m working. Digestion slows me down’ bit,” the countess cut in when she saw Bellum open her mouth to protest. “And try the scones,” she gestured vaguely. “This batch turned out well.”

“You made these?” Bellum asked.

Cleo stared. “What do you think I do with all my free time?” 

“...shopping?”

Bellum realized she never really thought about it. Coach Brunt was always training and Maelstrom usually locked himself in the library, and she wasn't about to question what he was up to. She was usually here in the laboratory whenever there was any down time between planning capers and teaching classes.

Cleo sighed. “You’re not wrong. But that’s entirely beside the point. Cooking fine cuisine isn’t trivial. I have standards you know. I won’t have my favorite delicacies disrespected by the cretins in our kitchen. Since you missed dinner, I thought I would make you breakfast.”

_ Oh _ , Bellum blinked, as though seeing the woman before her in a new light.  _ She made these for me. _ Her heart decided on wild hammering as an appropriate reaction.  _ That’s new _ , she thought. It's probably not a heart condition. Hopefully not. She would have noticed it by now. Realizing that she wasn’t supposed to just be standing there, she took a bite of the scone. 

“Well?” Cleo asked. 

"They're good," Bellum was already reaching for another. 

"Good," the countess hummed, looking pleased with herself.

***

Cleo looked up from the latest cover of Vogue she was flipping through as Bellum pushed open the doors to the laboratory. She was situated quite comfortably in her spot on the couch and had no intention of moving.

Sbe watched as the doctor began throwing open various cabinet doors, grabbing parts and equipment, and placing them on the table. Cleo winced at the screech of the chair against the tiled floor as Bellum pushed it across the room to reach the top shelf. 

“What are you looking for?” Cleo inquired, looking back down and turning the page. She clicked her tongue in disappointment. Burnt velvet was now considered back in style. And those clear plastic shoes on every other celebrity? How tragic. 

“I’m assembling parts,” Bellum heaved a large box onto the lab table, the thud echoing through the room. “I need to visit my laboratory in the Himalayas.”

“Oh?” Cleo frowned. “Is the machine not working?” 

“Wouldn’t calibrate. Nothing has since we moved to this damp climate.” 

Cleo took this in before flipping the page. “Will you be long?” she asked. 

“Shouldn’t need more than two weeks.” 

“Including travel?” 

“Three weeks,” Bellum amended. “I’ll have the Cleaners take me early tomorrow.”

She then turned to look at her design board, covered in sketches that were haphazardly tacked up. She began taking down the ones related to devices for memory alterations, carefully rolling them up. 

“You know,” she heard the countess say, “I can come with you if you’d like.”

“Why?” Bellum looked over at Cleo, who was still focused on her magazine.    
  
“Make sure you don’t get distracted,” Cleo quipped. Realizing that Bellum hadn’t responded, she looked up at her.

“Although, if my presence would detract from your work-”

“No,” Bellum interrupted. Taking a breath, she continued. “No, I’d like that. It’s just, well… I haven’t had anyone ever want to visit.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” Cleo closed her magazine, setting it aside and walking out of the laboratory. “I’ll let you know when I’ve packed,” she called, her voice echoing down the hall. 

“Yes, that’s... good. You’ll let me know.” Bellum stared at Cleo’s retreating back, momentarily dumbfounded, before shaking her head to clear her thoughts and continuing to pack. 

***

The faculty came to see them off, standing on the helipad. The helicopter whirred in the background, kicking up the wind around them.

“I still don’t understand. Why are you going?” Brunt asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Adult supervision, Coach Brunt,” Cleo smirked. “Besides, Saira has some ideas for a certain caper.”

“A caper? And you would be interested in what? Her gizmos and all?”

“I guess you could say this caper has a certain  _ golden _ sheen to it,” Cleo said slyly, looking back at Brunt as she climbed into the helicopter. “Don’t kill Professor Maelstrom while we’re gone,” she called out. 

Watching their island grow smaller and smaller as they rose higher in the air, Cleo muttered “God knows between the two of them, he’s the only one with any sense of restraint.”

Hearing this, Bellum laughed. “Saying Maelstrom has any restraint is certainly telling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be up soon! 
> 
> Leave some love and let me know what you think. Your comments genuinely keep me writing :)


End file.
